Murder House
by Centurion Autolycus
Summary: This is a short story featuring Captain America and Agent 13


Captain America and Agent 13: "Murder House"

Chapter 1 - New York City, the Lower West Side.

The young woman walked into the strip club, briefly catching the eye of the big, muscular bouncer who was watching the door. His jaded eyes lit up as they passed over her shoulder length blonde hair, zeroing in on her short denim bolero jacket worn over a strapless turquoise top, showing a tantalizing glimpse of skin. He lingered for a moment on the attractive swell of her bust, then moved downward over her rounded hips and long, lean legs, sheathed in faded blue jeans, flaring slightly at the bottom where they covered her wedge-heeled boots. The bouncer nodded his approval and let her pass.

Sharon Carter nodded curtly back. He evidently hadn't noticed the sidearm she was carrying under her jacket. So far so good.

The interior of the club was fairly dim, spotlights highlighting the three girls dancing on the stage wearing next to nothing. Sharon could make out the shadowy forms of men at the tables all around her, drinking and watching the performers. She could almost feel their eyes following the gentle sway of her jeans-clad posterior as she crossed the room. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spotted the backstage entrance, and lounging casually nearby, two scruffy-looking men who were obviously guarding it. The problem now was somehow charming her way past them.

"Hey there, beautiful," said a male voice with a British accent. "It must have hurt an awful lot when you fell from heaven. Let me buy you a drink. What are you having?" Sharon felt a strong arm slide possessively around her slender waist.

She flashed the man a smile. "I appreciate the thought, hunk," she said. "I'll have a-" He WAS a hunk, no question, with close-cropped red hair and sea blue eyes. Not a patch on Steve of course, but his muscular chest nicely filled out the red shirt he was wearing unbuttoned and tucked into navy blue trousers. Only his face spoiled it. His left cheek bore an ugly scar, and there was something cruel about his mouth that said this was a man who liked to slap women around for fun.

"-oh crap," Sharon finished, as a dossier photo popped up in her mind's eye. But it was too late. He had already grabbed her wrists, overpowering her and twisting her arms behind her. She found herself off balance and helpless in his grip, unable to resist whatever he had in mind.

"Don't make a fuss, sweetie," her captor whispered into her ear, holding her arms pinned together as his free hand reached across her lean torso and underneath the open flap of her jacket, copping a brief feel through her spandex top. Sharon drew in a gasp of outrage as his hand traced the shape of her supple bosom, then emerged from her jacket holding her gun.

"Maximillian Zaran," she said sullenly. "You're the last person I expected to see here."

"Nice to know my fame has preceded me," Zaran replied with a grin. Now that she was disarmed, he released her. "Let's go, dumpling." Giving Sharon a sharp slap on her round booty, he pushed her toward the backstage door. The two thugs fell in behind them.

On the other side of the door was a short three-way corridor. To the right was the stage entrance; straight ahead led to the dressing rooms. Zaran shoved Sharon down the left hand branch and up a staircase to the upper level. Upstairs, the four of them followed another corridor straight through a set of double doors. The room beyond that was a plush, well-appointed office with a big mahogany desk. There was a set of floor-to-ceiling windows to one side, the curtains drawn.

Two more men were waiting in this room, lounging on the sofa. They looked to Sharon like hired muscle. This just kept getting better and better.

"What's up, Mr. Zaran?" said one of the men, as they jumped to their feet. "Who's the chick?"

Zaran ignored him, leaving Sharon standing in the middle of the room as he walked around the desk and pushed a button, activating a plasma screen mounted on the wall. An instant later a man's face appeared on the screen. This one Sharon recognized right away - a French mercenary named Georges Batroc.

"What is the trouble, mon ami?" the Frenchman said in a disinterested tone. Then he perked up as his eyes lit upon Sharon. "Who is the beautiful mademoiselle?"

"I don't know," Zaran said. "She walked in just now, packing an iron." He waved Sharon's gun and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. "I thought with our employer's project about to start, it was too much of a coincidence."

"I see what you mean," Batroc said. "Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Sharon was aware of the two armed thugs behind her blocking the exit, the other two standing to either side, and Zaran himself. She shrugged, affecting nonchalance as she hooked both thumbs casually behind her belt buckle. "It's just that I've always been curious about places like this," she said. "What kind of women dance for men with their clothes off, what goes on behind the scenes... and what possible use you would have for a xenon-flash apparatus for a mega-watt laser."

Deadly silence greeted this casual remark. "What makes you think we have-?" Zaran started to say.

"You stole one from Hartford Industries," Sharon said. "This was not a very bright move."

Zaran recovered from his surprise quickly, walking over to stand in front of her. "What's it to you, babe? Are you NYPD? Private security? You don't smell like Interpol."

"Try CIA," Sharon said calmly. "They call me Agent 13."

"Oh, mademoiselle," Batroc said sadly. "Normally I find curiosity to be an attractive trait in a woman, but just now we cannot afford the distraction. Our employer is most anxious that the project go off without a hitch. Dispose of her, Zaran. Dump her body in the Hudson River." The plasma screen clicked off.

The Englishman grinned, his lips forming the cruel line which Sharon had noted earlier. From somewhere on his person he produced a long-bladed knife, which he held up deliberately in front of her face where she could see it. The other four henchmen rubbed their hands. This was going to be good.

"I'm not going to tell you this won't hurt, babe," Zaran said. "Just how MUCH it hurts... well that depends upon how much trouble you give me."

Sharon licked her lips. "Please... can't we talk about this?" she said a bit breathlessly, reaching up with both hands and laying them imploringly on his broad chest.

"If you expect to persuade me not to kill you," Zaran said, looking down at her, "you're going to have to do a whole lot more than just talk."

"Well... I'll see what I can do," Sharon said huskily. Her hands moved downward along his torso, sensuously caressing the skin of his rippling abs through the open front of his shirt. Glancing to her left, she suddenly saw a single bright spotlight appear, shining through the window curtains. Oh no, she thought. She had to move!

Quickly she triggered the mini-Taser she had slipped from her belt buckle and palmed. The multi-volt electrical jolt, surging straight into the bare skin of Zaran's chest, threw the English mercenary backwards across the mahogany desk, his knife flying the other way and thudding into the wood paneling. The four henchmen looked at her dumbly, but Agent 13 had already spun on her heel and dove clear of the windows.

Which was a good thing, because just then the windows seemed to explode as a motorcycle came crashing through them, sending shards of glass flying in all directions! The henchmen scattered in panic as the Harley-Davidson swerved and skidded to a stop on the carpet, arresting the momentum it had acquired by leaping from the adjoining rooftop. The driver astride the bike was dressed in a red, white and blue micro-chainmail body suit. The henchmen's eyes were immediately drawn to the proud white star across his chest and the bold letter A on the forehead of his mask.

"Captain America?!" one of them shouted.

"That's the name, boys," the superhero said. "Don't wear it out."

Chapter 2 -

As the four henchmen fumbled for weapons, Captain America had already dismounted from the Harley, vaulting from the saddle with a spinning assault at the two on his left side that sent them both tumbling over the sofa. No sooner had he completed this maneuver than the two on his other side opened fire, a volley of .45 caliber bullets pinging off the round metal-alloy shield which he carried slung over his broad back.

Cap pivoted to his left, sweeping his shield into his hand and firing it back at them in a single smooth movement. The red, white and blue missile whirled across the room, smacked one of the thugs in the ribcage, then went on past him to strike the bookcase, rebound off the corner of the desk, and catch the other in the back of his knees before returning to its master.

The husky hero was just catching his shield again as the other two thugs scrambled back to their feet and jumped him, grabbing at his arms to restrain him. The Sentinel of Liberty shook them off, swinging his shield backhanded to clout one of henchman and send him off to dreamland, while he caught the other in a judo lock, throwing him over his hip and back toward the door.

At this time the other two hoodlums, realizing that their guns were of little use, picked up a heavy oak coffee table in between them and used it as a battering ram. They lunged toward Cap, catching the Avenger off balance with good, solid slam in the chest and pushing him back toward the open window. He grappled with the business end of the table and managed to brace his feet just in time to prevent being pushed out.

Meanwhile, Zaran had recovered from the zap of Sharon's mini-Taser. "Fricking bimbo!" he muttered, darting toward the double doors to make his escape.

"No you don't!" said Sharon Carter, taking a running leap and pouncing on him, her slender arms encircling his hips. The beautiful CIA agent managed to trip him up, but Zaran rallied quickly, not only breaking her hold but reversing it on her, seizing her arms behind her and holding her captive.

"Looks like I got me a hostage," the brawny mercenary sneered.

"Guess again," Sharon gasped, suddenly slipping gracefully downward out of the sleeves of her bolero jacket, leaving him holding an empty garment as she twisted and drove her elbow upward into his groin. The spunky blonde was rewarded not only by his grunt of pain, but by the metallic sound of her SIG-Sauer being dislodged from his waistband and hitting the floor with a thump.

"Witch!" Zaran scowled, throwing aside the empty jacket and conking her hard on the head with his fist as he brushed past, running full tilt down the corridor.

Seeing stars, Sharon desperately struggled to focus. Scrambling to her feet, she scooped up her gun and gave chase.

Captain America grimaced as he saw the girl run off alone after the mercenary, but he had problems of his own. He was hanging right on the verge of the shattered window, his scarlet boots slipping on the glass shards as his two attackers kept up the pressure. It was two against one, and they had the advantage of leverage.

But his advantage was a lifetime's worth of practice at beating the odds. He felt his right boot anchor itself firmly to the ledge. His right leg thus braced, he rose up to full height, pushing back. And incredibly, he began to make headway! Putting his shoulders into it, the living legend of World War II gave a mighty shove, pushing both henchmen off their feet and dropping the table on top of them. "I guess you guys are just bored by all this excitement," he said.

Cap leaped toward the double doors just as three more henchmen appeared up the back stairs. Catching sight of him, the thugs one by one drew back the cocking levers of their Tec-10 rapid-fire machinepistols.

Meanwhile Agent 13 had raced down the front stairs, right on Zaran's heels. At the bottom of the stairs, the blonde pulled up short to catch her breath. He clearly hadn't gone through the door which led back into the front room of the strip club. And yet she couldn't hear his footsteps running toward the stage exit, either. He must be hiding somewhere in the dimly lit backstage area, trying to give her the slip.

Holding her gun at ready with both hands, Sharon moved behind the curtain backdrop, cautiously poking at it. Nothing. She could hear light canned music playing over the club's speakers, and the hubbub of voices in the next room.

Suddenly loud music started playing as a performer on stage started another dance set. Startled by the unexpected sound, Sharon was taken by surprise as a broom handle darted out of the shadows, striking her wrist and knocking her gun out of her hand. Nursing her stinging hand, she saw Zaran standing before her, spinning the broom in the air over his head, poised and prepared to take another shot. The spunky blonde dodged, spinning around with a high kick which the British weapons master parried. She tried a roundhouse kick and managed to knock the broom from his hand. His big hands reached out to grapple, and together the two of them stumbled through the curtain and onto the stage.

The scantily clad dancer let out a shriek and scrambled out of the way as Zaran dragged Sharon across the stage, catching her in a choke hold. The driving bass beat of the music sounded deafening up here. The CIA agent looked wildly around at the audience, leaning forward in their seats. Heaven only knew what they thought was going on. With her tight jeans and strapless turquoise top, they might have thought that it was just another dance act, as far as that went.

Sharon grasped desperately at the shiny chrome pole, supporting herself by it as she struggled to keep her head clear. Zaran's hands were around her throat, shaking her and throttling her. She had to get him off somehow...

With a supreme effort, the CIA agent suddenly tightened her grip on the pole and hoisted her legs up and over, flipping and breaking free of her attacker's hold. Corkscrewing around the pole, she brought her knees around and slammed into the side of his jaw. The unexpected move sent the British mercenary to his knees. The audience in the club shouted their approval and applauded. Sharon herself slid to the base of the pole, gasping precious air into her lungs.

From somewhere up above, they heard the sound of machineguns going off. Zaran swore under his breath and ran into the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

GET UP! Sharon scolded herself. GET AFTER HIM! Groping for her gun, she forced herself to climb to her feet and give chase once again, winding her way through the shadowy backstage area and out the stage exit. She arrived outside just in time to see Zaran leap onto a motorcycle and crank it, the rear tire slinging gravel as he drove off down the street. Agent 13 leveled her gun, struggling for a clear shot, but he was already lost in the darkness of the night.

But then she heard the roar of another motorcycle. Sharon crouched back prudently against the brick wall of the club as Cap's Harley-Davidson crashed through another upstairs window and landed in the street beside her.

"I believe this is yours," the Avenger said, tossing her jacket to her.

"AFTER HIM! GO!" the girl shouted, jumping on the pillion seat behind him. Her slim arms had barely snaked around his scrumptious torso before he had kicked the bike into gear and they were roaring off down the street at top speed.

Chapter 3 -

"Are you okay?" Captain America shouted over the wind, as his motorcycle accelerated through the late night traffic, giving chase to the other bike they could see far ahead of them.

"Yeah, I'm good!" Agent 13 shouted back, the wind whipping her blonde tresses around her face and bare shoulders as she hugged herself against the solid warmth of his body. Her jacket was pinned in between them, and at the speed they were going, she couldn't let go of him long enough to put it on. "You heard everything through my ear pod?"

"Most of it," the star-spangled Avenger answered, his fist clenched around the throttle. "Batroc! That's not good!"

"When my informant tipped me off about that place, he sure didn't give me any clue that Batroc was involved! What do you think's going on, Steve?"

"He mentioned an employer," Cap said grimly. "It could be anything."

Zaran raced north up Tenth Avenue, then took the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey. Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into the grounds of a private estate. The automatic gate closed behind him, cutting off Cap and Sharon before they could dash through. Steve trundled the bike behind a hedgerow and engaged the kick-up stand, studying the high, ivy-covered brick walls.

"Okay then," he said judiciously. "There's an iphone in the saddlebag if you want to-"

"That's nice," Sharon said, slipping her gun into the back waistband of her jeans and lifting her right foot. "Don't just stand there gawping; give me a boost," she added impatiently. "You don't think I'm going to let you go in there alone, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cap said. For a moment, as she stood there partly in silhouette from the nearby streetlights, Sharon reminded him so much of her aunt Peggy. The intervening years seemed to vanish. It was as if someone had pulled some horrible trick on him, and it really was 1945 again and the terrible loneliness of his life was gone and Peggy was here, warm and alive, waiting with that patient smile of hers to teach wallflower Steve Rogers to dance.

The illusion vanished as abruptly as it had come. She wasn't Peggy. Sharon was most definitely a woman of the 21st century. But the loneliness he had lived with for so long WAS gone. He grinned as he cupped his hands under her boot, and as she steadied herself against his broad shoulders, he lifted her slender frame up the wall. She grabbed the ivy and climbed over, letting herself drop to the other side. With an athletic leap, the hero caught the top of the wall and followed her.

Like a pair of shadows, they slipped across the grounds and into the silent house from the back entrance. No one seemed to be stirring in the ground floor at all - not in the kitchen, the dining room, or the hall.

"This is weird," Sharon said. "It's like some horror movie where people just vanish."

"I've been trying to catch up on movies since I came out of the ice," Cap said. "I must have missed that one."

Crossing the hall, the two partners moved through an archway into a large, empty room, and there they found something that caught their attention at once.

It was a flat slab of black stone, granite or basalt, sitting on top of a pedestal with small lights on it like a museum display. Steve estimated that it was approximately a yard long, twenty inches wide, and eight or nine inches thick. The surface facing them was about half-covered with some kind of symbols carved into the rock. It looked vaguely like writing, but it wasn't in any alphabet he had ever seen.

"I know what that is," Sharon said in surprise. "It's the Indian Springs Runestone. It was discovered in the 1890's or something. Some people claimed the writing was Viking, others that it was Micmac, or Vietnamese or something. Nowadays it's recognized as nothing but a hoax. The thing is worthless. What's it doing here?"

Captain America turned, scanning the room for any sort of clue, and that was when he spotted the large object in the far corner, draped with a white dust cloth. "Here's something," he said, whisking the sheet away. The object was complex machine with a long tubular barrel mounted on a rotating arm. Attached to it was the xenon-flash apparatus that had been stolen from Hartford Industries.

"Curiouser and curiouser," the Avenger said. "What do an industrial laser and a fake runestone have to do with one another?"

"You got me," the blonde agent admitted. She cocked her head. "Do you hear something?"

"Footsteps. Upstairs." The Captain turned and raced back through the archway with Sharon Carter right by his side. As soon as they did, a metal shutter slammed down across the arch, sealing off that room as well as the doorways on their side.

The Hall stretched out before them, decorated with paintings, tapestries, plaster columns, and occasional tables with vases of flowers. The only exit now was at the far end, the grand staircase that led to the upper level. And standing halfway up the staircase were Batroc and Zaran. The English mercenary had discarded his red shirt and was carrying a broad-bladed, three-pronged spear.

"Do not be concerned, Mon Capitaine!" Batroc called. "We only get you if the House does not get you first."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Captain America said. The question was rendered moot as one of the paintings suddenly slid downward, revealing a launcher concealed inside the wall which instantly spat out a small, spiked projectile about the size of a golf ball. The Avenger instinctively raised his alloy shield to deflect the missile, which exploded on impact like a grenade.

"Stay behind me, Sharon," Steve said grimly.

But the barrel of a second launcher had appeared further down the Hall, both of them pivoting to follow their targets. Sharon performed a graceful somersault to avoid the projectile aimed at her, ducking behind a decorative plaster column which shattered as it took the explosion. For the next few seconds it was hot work dodging the constant barrage, and it wasn't long before she was running out of cover.

Cap had noticed that the launchers were firing alternately at one-second intervals as though a single person were directing them both. The next grenade that came his way he struck with a sweeping movement of his shield, imparting English on it so that it rebounded and hit the other grenade launcher and destroyed it. Then, before the first one could fire again, the hero spun around and slammed it with the edge of his shield, smashing it.

"What did I tell you?" Batroc said to Zaran. "Less than fifteen seconds. You owe me a bottle of Beaujolais - not that swill you English drink." The English mercenary gave him a sour look, but neither of them came down the staircase.

There was a click from overhead. Sharon and Steve both looked up as the chandelier above them began to slowly spin clockwise. The twelve lighting fixtures arranged symmetrically around its circumference tilted over to the horizontal as gas jets ignited like miniature flamethrowers. Now the chandelier looked like a Catherine wheel, spinning faster and faster, forming a ring of fire as it descended slowly towards the pair of them.

Agent 13 saw one chance. The most vulnerable spot on this torture device was its central axis where it connected to the ceiling, and presumably the tanks above which fed gas to the jets. The spunky blonde knelt and took careful aim with her SIG-Sauer. BANG! BANG! BANG! The 9mm bullets tore through the brass couplings, severing the main gas line. There was an explosion as the chandelier ripped free of its fittings, falling, crashing down onto them.

Cap took the impact on his shield, standing over her, flexing his marvelous shoulders as he shoved the wreckage to one side. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm good," Sharon replied.

"You do not disappoint me, mon ami," Batroc said, as he and Zaran descended the stairs. "I told the doctor that her little toys would not stop you."

"Who are you working for, Batroc?" the Avenger said. "What's this all about?"

"Discretion forbids," the French mercenary said. "She will probably introduce herself... to your dead corpse."

Chapter 4 -

Batroc rushed the final two steps of the staircase and did a vaulting leap forward, ending with a savate kick which smacked against Captain America's shield. The sentinel of liberty pivoted and returned a right punch which the Frenchman evaded, continuing his spin to bring his shield around in a backhanded swipe. Batroc ducked the whirling disc by the skin of his teeth, dropping to his hands and kicking out with both feet, catching Cap in the stomach. The Avenger staggered backward.

"What is the matter?" the Frenchman smirked, springing to his feet. "You are not getting too old, are you?"

"Not for the likes of you," Cap said, slinging his shield onto his back to free both hands as he took up a boxing pose.

Meanwhile Zaran was striding purposefully toward Sharon Carter. "You still owe me for that zap, bimbo," he sneered, holding his spear menacingly in front of him.

The blonde CIA agent took aim with her SIG-Sauer and fired. With lightning speed, Zaran managed to deflect the bullet with the head of his spear. "You're not going to stop me that way."

Sharon took aim again. This time she got past his guard and nicked him in the left shoulder. The English mercenary hurled his spear as he broke into a trot. Sharon just barely dodged the missile, taking a grazing blow from its wooden shaft, and then Zaran was on top of her, reaching out with his big hands to grapple. He caught the beautiful agent by the wrists, wrenching the gun out of her hand as he flipped her slim body over his hip and sent her tumbling across the floor.

"Come on, bimbo," Zaran sneered. "Let's get this over with so I can have a piece of the Captain."

Agent 13 jumped to her feet with a spinning back kick to his abdomen. Zaran saw it coming and braced himself, catching her ankle. Sharon instantly did a sideways flip, bringing her other leg around and clouting him on the jaw. He let go of her, dazed. "You're not so good without a weapon in your hands, are you hunk?" she taunted, trying to circle him.

"Come here and say that."

Captain America led with a left jab, following it with a right hook which Batroc parried with a forearm. The Frenchman threw a left punch, feigned right, and then leaped upward, thrusting his right foot into the Avenger's breadbasket. Cap rolled with the kick, twisting his torso left in order to block the follow-up assault he knew was coming, but just then out the corner of his eye he saw Zaran lunge at Sharon. The spunky blonde got in another solid kick to the Englishman's solar plexus, but then she found herself backed into a corner where her maneuverability was impaired. Zaran caught her smooth bare shoulders and slammed her against the wall, grabbing her slender throat with both hands in a choke hold.

Distracted by the sight, Steve let his guard slip, giving his own adversary the chance to wallop him in the jaw. He saw stars. Batroc pressed his advantage with a flurry of blows and kicks, driving Cap to his knees. The superhero felt Batroc's arm snake around his throat.

Abruptly Captain America snapped his head backward, his hard cranium smacking into the Frenchman's face. As Batroc fell back stunned, in one catlike move Steve slipped his shield off of his back and threw it. The spinning disc hit Zaran in the back of his head, knocking him out, rebounded at a bad angle and went skittering across the floor. Sharon pushed the unconscious mercenary off of her, struggling to catch her breath.

The star-spangled Avenger got to his feet. Just then a length of metallic ribbon came whirling through the air and wrapped around his torso several times, pinning his arms to his sides. Steve flexed his muscles against his restraints, but a hefty charge of electricity arced across the bolo and through his muscular body. With a groan of agony, he dropped to his knees.

"Cap!" Sharon croaked weakly.

"Struggle is useless, American!" said a woman's voice. "Vengeance comes for you, flying on swift wings! More swiftly even than I had hoped, but it is welcome all the same!"

The owner of the voice was descending the grand staircase, her hips swaying with an arrogant swagger. She was moderately attractive, with light brown hair, dressed in an open-collar red jumpsuit, complete with boots and gloves. In one hand she was still holding the bolo rifle she had just fired. She discarded it now as she reached the bottom step.

Sharon, still weak from being half-throttled, crawled painfully towards her fallen gun, but Batroc, recovering from his daze, intercepted the blonde agent and hoisted her to her feet. "What shall I do with this one, Madame Doctor?" the Frenchman asked his employer.

"She is of no consequence," said the woman in red, sparing the agent one brief glance, turning her full attention on Captain America.

"Listen, ma'am," the Avenger said. "I don't know what this is about-"

"You don't know?" the woman snapped. "You killed my brother and you don't know? Is it that you kill so many men on a daily basis that you cannot keep track of them all?"

"K-killed your brother?" Cap stammered in confusion.

"My brother!" the woman shrieked. "Helmut Zemo! I am his sister, Dr. Helga Zemo! Do these names mean nothing to you?"

"Helmut Zemo?" the captive Avenger said. "You have it all wrong, Dr. Zemo. It-"

"SILENCE!" Helga screamed, snatching a small control box from her belt and stabbing at the button with her thumb. Another arc of painful electricity shot through Captain America's restraints.

For a moment she stood waving her index finger in front of his face, apparently so filled with rage that she couldn't speak. Sharon's heart was pounding, fearing that the woman was going to strangle Steve in front of her eyes with her bare hands.

"No," Helga Zemo said at last, mastering her anger. She marched away several yards, spun on her heel, pacing. "No. You will see. You will all see." She pressed another button on her control box, and the metal shutters on the doorways retracted. "Bring them, Batroc," she commanded, and stalked off toward the big room at the end of the corridor, where the runestone and the industrial laser were waiting.

Chapter 5 -

"I believe you were wondering," said Dr. Zemo, as her fingers deftly ran over the control panel of the laser, warming it up, "what a fake runestone was doing here. Why bother with anything so worthless, yes?"

Captain America and Sharon Carter were on their knees side by side in the display room, about twenty feet back from the runestone. Sharon could see that Cap was still struggling with the metallic ribbon which was wrapped around his torso, holding his arms pinned. She herself wasn't restrained at all. Zaran had been revived, and he was standing over her, giving her the kind of look that said he hoped that she would try something, just so that he could have the pleasure of slapping her around some more.

"Think of it!" Helga Zemo continued. "All those scholars poring over the inscription and arguing quite heatedly that it was Viking, or Hebrew, or Basque, or Chinese, or some idiotic thing - every one of them missing the point! Every one of them missing the obvious solution!"

Batroc had been standing on Cap's other side, holding his shield and admiring its craftsmanship. "And what IS the obvious solution, Madame Doctor?" he said, recognizing his cue.

"It is not an Earth language at all," Zemo said triumphantly. "It is alien."

Zaran took his eyes off of Sharon long enough to exchange an eloquent glance with Batroc. They both rolled their eyes.

"They called themselves the Skrull," Zemo continued, unheeding. "I alone was intelligent enough to begin with NO assumptions. I developed a computerized translation program, seeking out common variables, and I alone was able to decipher the message. It is a warning. A Skrull scout ship was having engine trouble. It had to eject an incredibly powerful portion of its hyperspace engine core, first sealing it inside an artificial basaltic rock shell to prevent radiation leakage. No doubt they intended to return for it."

Batroc set down Cap's shield, looked at the stone and risked a quiet laugh. "Forgive me if I sound like an alarmist, Madame," he said. "But is it safe to remove it?"

"Safe?" Helga Zemo scoffed, zipping up the collar of her suit. "I am talking about ultimate power! My insulated suit will protect me from any radiation danger. The rest of you have my permission to stand back." She was concentrating now on aiming the cutting laser at the runestone.

"Dr. Zemo," Captain America said. "I'm sorry about your brother, but this sounds like a bad idea."

"For once I am in agreement with Le Capitaine," Batroc said desperately. "Perhaps-"

"Silence!" Zemo shouted. "I have paid your mercenary fee, and I will brook no opposition with my leadership! Am I clear?"

"Very clear, Madame," Batroc said. He turned to Zaran, making a silent whirlygig gesture with his index finger. The two mercenaries just as silently backed toward the archway leading to the Hall.

Zemo donned a pair of safety goggles. The laser fired, carving a line of fire across the black basalt. The rock began to run like liquid, then to vaporize, until finally it split down the middle into two big chunks. The scientist adjusted the aim of the laser and made another cut.

Sharon cut her eyes over to Steve, who was desperately struggling with the metal bolo wrapped around him. She licked her dry lips and glanced over her shoulder at Zaran. He and Batroc were outside the door now, watching from that position of relative safety, and yet still close enough to intervene if she moved too soon. The girl let her right hand fall naturally to her ankle, fingers feeling their way carefully, inch by inch, to the wedge heel of her boot. Cautiously she slid the hidden compartment open...

A sudden CRACK! came from the runestone as it split open and a pale, sickly bluish light poured out, filling the room. Buried in the center of the stone was a rod-shaped object approximately ten inches long and three inches thick. It was glowing like a blue sun; waves of energy seemed to be rippling around it.

"At last..." Dr. Zemo hissed, her voice hushed in awe as she shut off the laser and moved forward, her gloved hand outstretched to pluck the object from its rock tomb.

Captain America struggled more frantically to escape his bonds. He had to stop her!

Sharon glanced back at Batroc and Zaran once again. They were too absorbed in watching Dr. Zemo to pay attention to her. It was now or never. Quickly she tugged the small ball from her boot heel and slapped it against Cap's back. There was a barely-audible hiss as the acid bomb went to work, eating away at the metal ribbon that held the superhero bound.

Just then, Zemo reached her goal, her hand clasping excitedly around the object of power which had been hidden so long within the stone. There was an immediate reaction as if a volcano had erupted from that spot. A blinding geyser of pure energy surged upward like a lighthouse, blasting straight upward through the house, destroying everything in its path, smashing through the ceiling, the floor above, and the roof above that as if they were paper.

"Sacre Dieu!" whispered Batroc. "Holy Crap!" said Zaran. The two mercenaries ran for it.

At that same instant, Captain America succeeded in snapping his weakened bonds. with not a moment to lose, he scooped up Sharon in his strong arm and raced for cover. Passing by his shield, he kicked the rim, propelling the metal alloy disc into his hand, holding it over the two of them like an umbrella to protect them from the debris which was raining down all around them.

In the relative safety of the dining room, the star-spangled Avenger paused to take stock. Incredibly enough, Helga Zemo was still alive inside that blinding column of pure energy, hovering suspended about thirty feet in the air, held there like a fly in amber by the force of this mysterious object, which was beginning to emit tendrils of destructive energy in random directions.

"It is beautiful!" she cried, staring at the glowing rod in her hand. "The power! You cannot imagine! I hold the power of the gods in my hands!" But then her expression changed. The rod itself was glowing like a small sun, and now the glow began to slowly spread along her gloved fingers. "NO!" she screamed. "It is too much power! It hurts! It burns!"

Down on ground level, Cap pulled Sharon out of the line of fire as a random bolt of energy hit the wall beside them, blasting it to dust. He squinted up at Dr. Zemo. "It's consuming her," he said. "Just like the Tesseract did the Red Skull."

"Good deal, too," Sharon said fervently. "Can we get out of here? Like now?"

For a moment, the sentinel of liberty was torn. He had seen so much death in his time - so many deaths that he couldn't do anything to prevent. What was one more? He slipped his shield off of his arm and gave it to Sharon. "Take this; it'll keep you safe."

"Wh-what?" the girl stammered. In a flash, she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Steve, no! You don't owe her anything!"

"Shar, I've got to try," the hero said simply. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't." He suddenly drew her close and kissed her. For a moment the warmth of his body was overwhelming against hers. And just as abruptly, he released her. He turned, tensed his legs, and made a fifteen-foot standing high jump. His gloved hand barely caught hold of a jagged support beam on the second floor, as he hauled himself up.

"STEVE!" Sharon cried. "YOU'LL BE KILLED!"

***

Chapter 6 -

The entire house trembled on its foundations. Captain America stood up and steadied himself on the bare rafter of the floor above, making his way toward the center of the house. The pillar of flame abruptly faded away. Helga Zemo had come to rest on the second floor in the midst of the wreckage, her right hand clutching the alien energy rod which was still glowing like a sun and lighting up the entire scene.

"Dr. Zemo!" the Avenger called. "Let go of the rod! Drop it! It's killing you!"

The woman looked wildly around, her face a terrified mask of pain and fear as the glow continued to spread along the bones of her hand to encompass her wrist. She focused on Cap's voice with difficulty, not seeming to recognize him, or to even be fully aware of where she was. But then her eyes hardened. "YOU! It is you!" she hissed. "You killed my brother! I will destroy you!"

A bolt of energy darted from the rod. Cap jumped at the last second from the rafter he was standing on, tucked into a roll and landed on another section of floor. The support beams under him creaked shakily. "Listen to me, doctor!" he tried again. "You must let go of the rod!"

"Give up the Power? Are you MAD? Never!" she screamed, as another bolt of energy shot forth, slamming into the floor beneath him.

The sentinel of liberty sprang into the air, doing a forward somersault to close the distance between them. If she wouldn't let go of the rod willingly, he had no choice but to force her. As he closed the gap, Zemo fired another energy bolt. Cap could feel tendrils of current surging a zapping all over his body, burning holes in his micro-chainmail uniform and stinging his flesh, but he gritted his teeth and kept coming, grappling with the woman in red, seizing her wrist and holding it at bay while he pried at her fingers.

To his dismay, he discovered that he couldn't budge them. The muscles of her entire arm were locked rigidly in place, and the energy flow from the rod had tripled the strength of her body. He doubted it if were any longer possible to move her fingers without breaking her bones. [i]So what's Plan B?[/i] he thought.

"You murderer!" Zemo shouted, flailing at him with her other fist like a piledriver. "You killer!"

"You have it all wrong!" he said. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Liar! I will destroy you!"

Cap stood grappling with her at the edge of the precipice, glancing breathlessly downward at the jagged ends of planks and timbers directly below him, waiting to skewer his body if he fell. One of the metal shutters concealed in the wall had been torn loose and lay at an angle like a gigantic meat clever. Suddenly he realized what Plan B was. He caught Zemo in an arm lock and did a sudden sideways flip, sweeping them both over the edge.

Sharon Carter almost cried out when she saw Steve and Zemo plummet. She lost sight of them as they fell, but immediately afterwards there was a sort of explosion and the blue glow of the rod faded. No! No! The agent frantically began to fight her way over the tumbled wreckage of the ground floor, ripping her jeans on unseen obstructions, battering loose planks aside with Cap's shield. Tears were streaming down her face, but she hardly noticed.

"Don't do this to me, you stupid lummox!" she muttered between her clenched teeth, her heart pounding almost with rage. Sometimes he infuriated her with his old-fashioned values and morals, his quaint, outdated ways of looking at things. When they were together, she would sometimes catch him looking at some commonplace, ordinary gadget as if it was a totally alien device, and it startled her to realize that was probably exactly what he was thinking. He was probably remembering the 1930's when things were much simpler. He seemed to always be walking through a world populated by ghosts.

But for all that, there was a boyish charm about him that fascinated and charmed her. He always treated her with old-fashioned respect. Most men she met were either intimidated by her or tried the Mr. Macho act. Steve never needed to do anything but be himself, carrying his self-reliance in front of him just like his shield.

Sharon gasped. There he was, lying face down in the rubble at the foot of that jagged metal shutter. His uniform was smoking, showing jagged tears all over it. Was that blood? The girl almost cried, rushing to his side. "Please don't be dead," she begged. "Please... please..."

Cap rolled over onto his back with a groan. "Tourniquet," he moaned, fumbling with his left hand to loosen his belt. "Make a tourniquet, fast!"

Sharon flogged her brain into working. There was blood all over him. Was he hurt? But no - it was Dr. Zemo, lying unconscious underneath him and cradled in his strong, protective arms. His right hand was clenched around the stump of her right wrist like a vise, choking off her radial artery so that she didn't bleed to death. Her right hand had been severed.

Not daring to think about it for the time being, Sharon helped him remove the belt from his uniform and wound the leather tightly around Zemo's arm to stop the bleeding. As she finished up, she saw the alien power rod lying several yards away. The blue glow had faded somewhat from a sun to something more approaching a fireplace, but it flickered with a sinister light, as if daring her to pick it up.

"Don't touch it," Steve warned, sucking air into his lungs. "I think it feeds on contact with a living body. Have to call Reed Richards... he'll know what to do with it. But in the meantime... if we leave it alone, it should be all right..."

There were spot fires smoldering all over the remains of the house, but they weren't spreading. They could hear the sirens of fire trucks and paramedics approaching. Steve propped his back against a support beam and pulled his mask off. "Well," he said, letting out an exhausted sigh. "That was different."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself, Steven Rogers?" Sharon said, suddenly trembling with anger.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked innocently.

"How about, 'I'll never pull a stupid, boneheaded stunt like that again.'?"

Steve shrugged. They both knew that he could never make a promise like that, not being who he was. And maybe that was the thing Sharon loved most about him. She leaned forward and kissed him.

the end


End file.
